


Trash

by Enide_Dear



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Ugh, poor Legolas, so this is going to get ugly, very much hurt/comfort, very ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28978062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enide_Dear/pseuds/Enide_Dear
Summary: AU where Mirkwood fell to Sauron centuries ago and the elves that survived are now slaves in Dol Guldur. They dont remember much of their previous lives - not even that they are elves. But one day one of them escapes and gets picked up by a strange Fellowship on a secret mission. It remains to be seen how much good has survived in this nameless elf and how much has been twisted by Sauron.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 102
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: Snaga means slave in orcish

"Snaga! Get that stone up! Now!" The slavemaster´s whip slashed the air so close to his face it almost took an eye out. Desperate he grabbed the stone again, got his arms around it and tried to lift it, ignoring the sharp edges that cut into his flesh. He couldn't move it. It wasn't even that big a rock; he had lifted bigger ones before. But somehow he couldn´t bring up the strength this time. 

Maybe it was the filth, the violence or simple exhaustion but something inside him had broken. His mind, not his body, was failing. If he moved this stone from the quarry, there would just be another. And another. For all eternity.

He couldn't do it anymore. 

The whip hit his back, felling him over onto the dirty ground but he barely registered the pain. The great emptiness that had opened up inside him seemed to swallow every sensation, even pain. He couldn't get through it. He couldn't even find the will to try.

The orc grabbed him by the rags of his clothing and pulled him up, staring into his eyes as if looking for something. Whatever it was, it didn't find it. Instead it just grunted in disgust and dropped him.

"This ones been wrung dry." It kicked him and he couldn´t care. "Get it to the pit! Get me a replacement before midnight, or you´ll take its place!" It pointed t two other orcs who came running and grabbed him by his arms, hoisting him up and dragging him away out of the quarry where he'd worked for...decades? Centuries? He didn't know. Time had no meaning here. The quarry was all he´d even known, from the filthy hovels where he and the other snagas slept during day to the ever increasing quarry where they ate their way into the mountain with dull tools, day after day, year after year, mining for stones and precious gems. The air was dusty and grey with pulverized stone and he was vaguely surprised as he was dragged up from the quarry when each breath became somewhat cleaner, or at least didn´t irritate his lounges with every breath. 

But something was growing inside him that even the empty void couldn't swallow; dread. They were taking him to the pit. He knew about the pit; they all did. It was where those who could work no longer were dumped, often still somewhat alive, with broken bones or broken minds or spirits, to rot away on the corpses of the others. If you were lucky you died fast; if you were not you might keep yourself alive for days,feeding of the others. 

He couldn't do this; fear of what he might become down there was worse than any torment he could imagine and he started pulling and struggling to get free. He didn't have a chance. The orcs just grunted and hit him and held him harder and he could see the pit now and it almost broke his mind as his spirit had. 

Something came falling through the air, something he'd never seen before. Something he only knew the name of the colour of because he had been taught to recognize copper ore in that colour - green. And something he only knew the name of because someone, a long long time ago, had taught him. His father? He couldn't recall. It was called a leaf. 

Fire and hope rose inside him, stronger than dread or emptiness. The surge of power took the orcs by surprise almost as much as him; before he knew it he´d torn the spear from one of them and shoved it clumsily into the chest of the other. Vengeance was exhilaratingly sweet; he had never even thought of fighting back before and now he wondered why. The other orc squealed but he'd already got a rock up and smashed its head in. 

Before anyone could raise the alarm or even know what was going on, he ran, ran for wherever that green leaf had come from.


	2. Chapter 2

A year later.

Gimli had been travelling through wilderness before, but there was something about Hollin that tugged at his heartstrings. This place had known people - a people that loved it - but now it was deserted. Only ruins were left and somehow that underlined the feeling of sorrow and abandonment. He tried not to let it get to him too much, but his eyes kept being drawn to the carvings on the pillars surrounding the rest of the sleeping fellowship, even though he was supposed to keep watch. He sternly told himself to keep focus. Just because it seemed vast and empty didn´t mean there couldn´t be wargs or even orcs here. No area was completely safe these days. 

He looked over at the sleeping forms of the rest of the company; four hobbits, two men, a wizard and himself. A small hope against such forces as were stacked against them. He wondered, not for the first time, why Elrond hadn't chosen one of his own people, or any elf really, to accompany them. He huffed to himself. His father would most certainly have answers to that! But his father, much as Gimli loved him, was narrow minded not to say outright prejudice when it came to elves. After Imladris, Gimli had begun to see things differently. At least a little bit differently. 

The moon was rising; it was still several hours left of his watch. He contemplated lighting his pipe when a sound made him turn. 

It wasn't even a sound, more of a perception of being watched. He got to his feet and quickly grabbed his axe. 

There was someone standing by the food supply, rummaging through the bags at Bills fetlocks, the horse apparently untroubled by this new presence. 

Gimli´s inwards breath was a sharp sound and the stranger looked up as sharply as a hunted animal. Gimli got a quick glance of a pale, terrified face, long lanky hair plastered around his face with dirt and worse and then the stranger was gone before Gimli had time to get a sound out. 

"Where do you think you saw him?" Boromir asked as they bumbled around the bushes and Gimli had to swallow an angry reply. 

"I didn't think I saw him, I did see someone! He is out here, I know he is."

"Even if there is someone here, our best choise would still be to keep vigilant tonight and then keep moving tomorrow. If we stumble into a nest or orcs...."

"It was not an orc. It was....I don´t know." He ended lamely. He didn't even know what he was doing out here, looking for the stranger except that the desperation and loneliness he saw in those blue eyes stabbed at his heart. He´d woken the camp immediately and dispelled Aragorn and Gandalf's question of Gollum. This stranger was far too tall to be originating from a hobbit. They had chosen to stay behind to guard the hobbits while Boromir followed Gimli out into the night. 

"We should get back to camp. This avails us nothing." The Man wasn't being cruel, Gimli realized. Stumbling about in the dark like this was foolish at best and lethal at worse. But still....

"A little more," he pressed on, ignoring the Man´s grumblings. 

Gimli was just about to give up when pure luck helped him. Something moved under some bushes and he knew beyond a doubt that it was no fox. Debating with himself how to best proceed, he took a few steps closer. He didn't want to scare the stranger but he didn't want him to bolt into the night either.

Boromir solved it for him. The Man accidently stepped on something; something that broke underneath his foot with a snap and frighteningly fast the stranger rose out of the bushes, desperation in his pale face and a crude knife held competently in front of him.

"Easy, easy!" Gimli held up his empty hands and backed off a few steps; the stranger was tall and had long limbs so his reach would not be something to be trifled with. "We mean you no harm!"

Blue eyes darted everywhere and now Gimli realized that these few bushes were actually a camp; the saddest camp he´d ever seen. There was an attempt at camp fire; a few soggy branches in damp ash, and a piece of cloth put up to serve as a tent over the bushes. On a rock lay a strange assortment of objects; a shiny bird feather, some holly leaves and berries and a sharp piece of flint, perhaps to serve as a makeshift knife or a fire starter. 

But around the ´camp´ was strewn dry twigs, hidden in the grass, so that no one could approach without being heard.

"You are not orcs." The stranger actually lowered his knife, as if orcs were the only thing he was afraid of. There was still fear in his eyes but for some reason no aggression. That didn't make sense. "You are...a Man?" He asked with some uncertainty, looking at Boromir. 

"I am Boromir of Gondor," Boromir nodded, pity shining in his eyes as he took in the sorry state of the stranger and his home. "And this is Gimli son of Gloin, my traveling companion."

The stranger stared at Gimli as if he couldn't make sense of him. That was strange; dwarves still travelled the world at will but apparently the stranger had never met one before. 

"I am a dwarf," he explained. The name seemed to make no more sense to the stranger who just shook his head and seemed to debate with himself. Finally he said:

"Would you like to sit down?" He pointed at a log by the remnants of fire. Gimli had received many awkward invitations in his life but this was probably the worse. Still, he nodded and Boromir did the same as they sat down.

"What is your name, stranger?" He was too tall to be a dwarf or hobbit but he didn't look like either a Man or any Elf Gimli had ever seen. There were still small remnants of other people in the world, perhaps this stranger was one of them?

"It´s, um, Greenleaf." There was just enough hesitation in the word that Gimli knew he made it up, but he didn't press on. 

"And you...live here?"

The stranger gave him a suspicious look but nodded slowly. He was incredibly filthy, Gimli realized, which didn't make it easier to determine his origin. He also moved strangely and Gimli was just about to put his finger on what was wrong when Boromir said. 

"You are hurt."

"No! No, I´m fine, I´m fine!" Greenleaf came to his feet and scuttled backwards like a horse that had broken its leg and had to be put down. He held one hand protectively over his ribs and now Gimli saw it too; one or maybe more of the ribs must be broken. 

"It's alright. We can help you." Gimli´s heart felt all but overflowing with pity for this poor creature. "Aragorn will have some athelas and he is a skilled healer. Come back to our camp and let us help you."

He gave Boromir a look that said he didn't want any arguments and to his surprise there came none. Boromir just looked at the stranger, skinny to the point of starvation, and nodded. 

It took some time to convince Greenleaf to trust them enough to follow them back to camp but Gimli was not a renowned silvertongue diplomat for nothing. Boromir went ahead to alert the rest of the Fellowship while Gimli stayed behind to guide Greenleaf. It took a lot of time and much reassurance as the stranger was fearful to an alarming degree. Whatever he was, his life must have been a horror.

"How long have you lived here?" Gimli asked as they finally moved through the night towards the other camp. 

"It was winter when I came here. It is winter again now." The stranger answered. 

"So, a year?" He saw Greenleafs non comprehending look. "That is what we call the amount of time, from one season to another. From winter to winter."

"A year." Greenleaf looked like he committed the word to memory. "Yes, a year."

"And where did you come from before that?" Gimli couldn't help it; he was too curious.

But this was apparently the wrong question; Greenleaf paled even more and just waved his hand to the North East, to the mountain range of Caradhras and beyond.


	3. Chapter 3

The dwarf - such a strange word, such a strange creature - had warned him that there would be others at camp. One more Man; he knew about Men. Sometimes they travelled these roads and he would sneak up on them when they put camp at night, just to listen to them talk to each other. Sometimes he stole from them, when desperation became too much and his stomach too empty or his body to cold. He tried not to; they were good people and he tried to be good too but it was hard when you had nothing. He knew too that they killed orcs so he made sure they didn´s ever see him. 

They would kill him if they knew what he was. 

The dwarf had gone on to describe hobbits. They seemed like small Men but less dangerous. He could probably outrun them, easily, if he had to. But this dwarf he was not so sure about. For all that he was short he seemed unreasonably strong and could probably run for a very long time without tiring. 

And then there was a...

"A wizard?!" He stopped immediately. He knew about wizards, he knew far too much about them. They were incredibly dangerous. Anyone who was sent to the wizards tower didn´t come back or if they did, they were so mutilated it was a kindness to kill them. He was not about to go anywhere near a wizard. 

He was about to bolt when the dwarf - Gimli - grabbed his wrist. It was not a harsh grip, or even hard. In fact he could have broken it without even trying and yet he felt that had the dwarf wanted to he could have easily held him down or forced him along. But he didn´t, even though he seemed to want him to follow very badly. 

The grip was warm, comforting. It was an altogether unfamiliar feeling. 

"Aye, I know wizards can be bad. But this is a good one, on my word." Gimli's eyes were very sincere and he was so tired of being lonely. 

He let himself be led forward. 

He almost lost heart when so many eyes were turned towards him, but the gentle grip on his arm led him forward even though his heart was beating wildly. Oh this was a bad idea! One of them would know what he was and kill him!

"Greenleaf, these are my travel companions." The dwarf nodded at each of them as he introduced them. The hobbits, as he had suspected did not seem dangerous although he was disconcerted by the strange darkness laying over one of them. The other Man was smaller in build than Boromir but seemed both kinder and somehow more dangerous. He was preparing something by the fire, boiling water and leaves. It smelled wonderful. 

And then there was the wizard. He was more worn and old than any wizard Greenleaf had ever seen but the aura of power was there, kept hidden but ready to spring forward. He looked into his eyes for just a few heartbeats but somehow Greenleaf felt as if a wind had swept through his mind, seeing more than just appearances. It almost made him panic, but the wizard said nothing so somehow he didn't know. Somehow, Greenleaf had succeeded in keeping hidden what he was. Perhaps he would not be killed tonight.

Besides, the dwarf had promised him he would not be harmed. And for some reason it felt as if the dwarf actually meant it. 

"Here, drink this. It will make you feel better." The other Man, Aragorn, handed him a cup with steaming water and a few leaves. Its smell alone seemed to wipe away some of his weariness, like a light in the dark and he drank it slowly. The water and the athelas seemed to fill him from within with warmth, wipe away some of the myriad of pains and aches in his body, ones he barely knew he had anymore. Even his ribs felt better, as if they were knitting together again and he almost gasped with relief.

"You are welcome to share our camp for tonight if you would wish," the wizard said. Their camp did look a lot better than his. There fire was bright and merry, and a large pot of water was hanging over it. Small tents with soft blankets were placed around it and there was the pony that had greeted him when he first tried to sneak in there. But still...

He looked down on Gimli, uncertain. The dwarf nodded up at him. 

"No one will harm you. You will be safe here."

"Well, then....yes." He rummaged through his mind to find the appropriate thing to say. "Thank you."

That seemed to ease some tension in the camp and he was glad to be out of everyone's attention. Three of the hobbits went back to their tents, but the fourth one stayed and pointed at the pot of water. 

"You might want to wash off first though, sir." He said somewhere between stern and awkward before hurrying after the others. 

Wash? Water? He supposed he was dirty but he had too many bad memories of water, of being held down in it until he couldn't breath, of being hosed with ice cold water in winter as punishment....

He didn't realize he was squeezing Gimli´s hand until the dwarf let out an involuntary grunt of pain. Greenleaf recoiled and immediately let go of the hand.

"Forgive me! I didn't mean to...."

"I´m fine, I´m fine." Gimli shook his hand then deliberately ignored it. "Do not worry about me. You just get yourself clean."

He couldn't back out now, not when he had just hurt one of them. Bewildered he took a rag and something small that smelled nice - a soap the Man said - that Aragorn handed him and followed the Man to a semi secluded area behind some bushes. The Manseemed to understand his confusion for he kindly said:

"Dip the rag in water, then lather up the soap and use it on your body. Rinse it with water. We´ll find you some clothes." before leaving him. 

Greenleaf nodded and watched him leave before slowly undressing. His clothes were the same he´d had since he escaped, except the cloak which he´d stolen the first winter. There was nothing much left of them. He stared at the steaming water and finally dipped the rag, tentatively rubbing it on his hand. That felt...good. The water had a nice temperature and the soap smelled good. Bit by bit he managed to get himself clean, the water running off him turning from dirty grey to clear. His face was the hardest, but he managed as well. 

Then came his hair. It was a dirty tangled mess but he couldn't cut it off. It served a purpose after all, an important purpose. He settled for wetting it as best as he could and trying to rinse it out but it only got worse. He shrugged. It would still serve its purpose. 

There was still some water in the pot when he leaned over it, and in the dim light of the stars he could see his own reflexion. He´d seldom seen it before but he could see the differences from when he was in the quarry. Not just the lack of dirt but the shine in his eyes. Even though he was scrawnier than ever there was still something healthier about him. 

He could almost forget what he was. But that would be too dangerous. 

With shaking hands he lifted the tangled mess of his hair and forced himself to look at the mutilated mess that had been his ears. Never forget who you are, he told himself sternly. They will kill you if they find out you are an orc.


	4. Chapter 4

"How is your hand?" Aragorn asked when he returned and Gimli ruefully shook his hand. 

"He is stronger than he looks," he admitted. 

"But what is he?" Boromir had found a spare shirt to lend but he was frowning. "Is he a Man or an Elf? Or something else? I have never seen his like before and yet he reminds me of something I can't quite place."

Gimli nodded agreement. He felt the same way.

"He is a Elf," Gandalf said firmly. "The light of the Eldar is in his mind and soul. But it is hidden deep and of a sort I have not seen in centuries. Much has happened to him and little of it good. I would say he is as much elf as Gollum is a hobbit."

Involuntary, all eyes turned to Frodo who was sleeping with the other hobbits in their tent. But Gandalf shook his head. 

"No, he has not held the One. But there are other ways of twisting someone, given enough malice and time. We need to be careful around him, for his sake as well as ours."

Gimli bristled. 

"We cannot leave him here! You saw him - he is all but starving to death! There is nothing for him in these lands!"

"I did not say we should leave him." Gandalf sighed. "The best would be if we could take him to Imladris. Elrond might be able to help him. But we cannot go back and we can spare no one on this quest. I fear he must follow us until such time as we can find a safe place for him to stay."

"Our own path is no less dangerous," Aragorn protested. "What if we lead him to his death? He has not agreed on this dangerous quest and we cannot tell him about it."

"No we cannot." Gimli agreed. "But he will die if he stay here alone another year. I say the choice must be his."

They found spare clothes enough that when the Elf - if that was what he was - returned he looked a lot better dressed even though most of it was sagging on his spare frame. He was clean too and that helped with the impression that he was indeed an Elf but his hair was a mess. Gimli got out a comb and held it out. 

"Here. This will help you get those tresses in order."

The effect was instantaneous and wholly unexpected. The Elf scrambled backwards as if the comb had been a snake, almost tripping over himself to get away and vehemently shaking his head. He didn't seem able to even form words in his panic. 

"I am sorry, I am sorry!" Distraught at the pain he had involuntary caused, Gimli sprang to his feet. "Leave your hair as you wish - I meant no harm!"

The elf looked like he would bolt, but with a shuddering breath he approached the fire once more. The awkward tension was broken by Gandalf kindly saying:

"It seems the hobbits are once again asleep, and in the same tent no less. I suppose that at least solves our sleeping arrangements." He pointed at the two remaining tents. "It is my watch anyway so the rest of you might as well get some rest until morning."

The Men nodded and with a few polite words started to withdraw to their shared tent. Greenleaf looked around in confusion but then nodded. Pulling his cloak further around himself, he started to lay down in the dirt by the fire.

"What are you doing?!" Boromir caught his arm and Gimli could almost feel the panic surging through the elf; Boromir was a lot bigger than he was, and he was armed and the elf´s eyes clearly said that he knew he´d done something wrong- he didn´t know what but it was always something and now he´d pay and pay and pay....

"Boromir!" Gimli was on his feet at the same moment the Man seemed to realize his mistake. He immediately dropped his grip on the elf´s arm and backed off. 

"I am so sorry, but really...the tent, please. You can sleep in the tent!" Exasperated and ashamed, the Man stomped away and Gimli hurried forward, careful not to get too close or to touch the shivering elf. 

"You may share the tent with me, if you wish." He said carefully. "There are blankets in there and it will be warmer for both of us. Gandalf will keep watch. You will be safe."

Greenleaf stared up at him as if he didn't understand the words. He looked from Gimli to the wizard to the tent. Gimli walked over to the tent and opened the flap to show what he meant. 

Very slowly and very carefully, as if to give them lots of time to take back their words, the elf stood up. He took a long way around the fire to get to the tent, with many glances at both Gimli and Gandalf, who nodded benign. With extreme care he started to lay down on the blankets and when no one yelled at him he finally lay down completely.

Gimli smiled. 

"Well done, laddie. Rest now. We´ll handle the rest in the morning."


	5. Chapter 5

Greenleaf didn´t want to fall asleep. He was cleaner, warmer and yes, safer than he´d ever felt in his life. The blankets were soft around him and the dwarf was already snoring slightly - a comforting sound. He wanted to stay awake and commit this moment to his memory so that when he lay in his own small cold camp alone he could bring it up and remember this feeling. 

Instead, he fell asleep almost immediately. 

He woke with a jolt the next morning and had to wrestle with his own mind to accept what had actually happened last night. He was in a camp, with others. In a tent, although currently alone. And something outside smelled wonderful. He freed himself from the blankets with some reluctance and carefully went outside. 

The Hobbits were awake and busying themselves around the fire where a new pot hung. One of them occasionally stirred something in it while the others tended the fire or took out bowls and spoons. The rest of the fellowship were also awake, checking boots or loading the pony or taking down tents. He looked around for Gimli but didn´t see him. It made him a bit nervous. 

"Mister Elf! Mr Elf!" 

He jolted when he realized they meant him and the word stabbed his heart. An Elf. They thought he was an elf! That´s why they let him stay last night! That is why they were so kind to him. He should tell them. No, he must not tell them, or they would kill him. But he was lying to them, and wasn´t that something that an orc would do? He felt so conflicted it almost split his head. 

"Mister Greenleaf?" The hobbit who stirred the pot looked up at him, with a mixture of shyness and determination, and he couldn´t bring himself to tell the truth. "I am making porridge for breakfast and there is some honey stirred in to. Would you like some?"

He didn´t understand most of those words but the smell and the pot...

"Um. Is it food?" He couldn´t help but ask.

All eyes were suddenly upon him again, but he was utterly relieved to see Gimli come around a tree, his hair and beard wet as if he´d been washing of too. The dwarf gave him such a strange look that he didn´t know what to make of it and his voice was a bit raspy when he answered.

"Aye, it is food. Good food to, as our master Sam wise makes it."

Greenleaf nodded. 

"Then yes. I would very much like some food." He was so used to being hungry but now the feeling made him naucious and dizzy; this was why he had tried to steal from the camp last night. Usually he could find something to eat - mushrooms or berries or roots, but this was winter and there were almost nothing to be had. He had been too hungry. So he had tried to steal and now he was lying by not telling them what he was. An orc indeed. 

Gimli led him to a rock where he could sit down, and he vaguely heard Sam berating himself for not realizing sooner, and that he should have fixed something last night, honestly mister Frodo, he should have!  
But then Aragon crouched down a few steps away and looked at him with a strange face. 

"When was the last time you ate?" He asked kindly.

Greenleaf just shook his head. He couldn´t quite recall, although time had more meaning out here were it could be measured by the rise and fall of the sun. Aragon seemed to understand well enough. 

"Then take it easy. If you eat too much at once, it will all just come up again."

He nodded, understanding. That had happened before; starvation had been no stranger in the quarry and when food came it was too easy to try to shove as much as possible of it in your mouth. He knew how to pace himself if he had to.

A bowl of something smooth and sticky was put in his hand, with a spoon poking up. He knew about spoons, in theory. He had seen Men use them in the camps he had been spying on. But he had never used one himself. Food in the quarry came in troughts, when it came, and the only tools were your hands. He managed to balance some of this food on the spoon and could almost feel how everyone avoided looking at him. He quickly stuck the spoon into his mouth. 

Oh. Oh, it was so good. Sweet and filling and warm like nothing he´d ever tasted before. His hand shook as he tried to pace himself but it was just so good and soon there was a heavy weight in his stomach, almost painful, something he´d almost never felt before. He took up the spoon again, then put it down and took it up once more. 

A gentle hand on his arm stopped him. 

"Don´t force yourself laddie. If you are full we´ll just save the rest for later." Kind eyes looked up at him amongst all that hair and Greenleaf felt a strange jolt inside. Gimli´s words woke something strange inside him. ´Later´ he said. Did that mean there would a later?

"I have a lid that fits perfectly on that bowl," the hobbit - Sam - reached out for his bowl. His food.

He couldn´t stop the snarl. It was a vicous sound, all anger and threat and Sam jumped backwards in fright. The Men were on their feet with hands on their swords in a heartbeat but worse of all was the sudden shock in Gimli´s eyes.

"I´m sorry, I´m sorry....." he fell over himself, the bowl falling out of his hands and spilling out on the ground. No one touched it. Cold sweat broke all over him; they would kill him now. He had revealed what he was, and they would kill him. 

An awkward hand patted his back. 

"It´s alright. You just startled us, that is all." Gimli´s voice was kind but also very worried. 

"I wasn´t going to steal your food, I swear." Sam said quietly. 

"Your life must have been a hard one," it was one of the Men, Aragon. "But we just want to help."

Slowly he looked up. No one was reaching for their weapons anymore and the looks were more of pity than anger. 

"I am sorry," he whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

“Well then, “ breaking the awkward tension, Gandalf stood up and pretended not to notice how Greenleaf flinched at the motion. He could all to well imagine the reasons why anyone would fear a wizard. “I think it is time for some decisions. Greenleaf, this fellowship conferred while you were sleeping and have decided that if you should wish you are welcome to join us, until such time as we can help you get somewhere safe. But,” he rose a hand even though the elf looked to stunned to answer. “You must know that our quest is extremely dangerous and as for the reason for it, I must insist that you do not inquire or try to find out. All I can say for now is that we are heading east and south, over the mountains.”

“East?” Greenleaf asked hoarsely. It wasn´t a question about latitude; Gandalf had clearly indicated which way he meant. Instead, it was fear that made him ask. 

“South first, “ Gimli soothed. “We will pass through the passage between the mountains….” But he stopped when the elf vehemently shook his head. 

“No, you cannot go south. There are flocks of birds — spies — they will lead orcs to you. I tried that way, but I could not make it. I had to go over the mountains.” He shuddered. “It was very difficult.”

The Fellowship exchanged glances. Boromir was the first to speak. 

“I mean no offense, but you are a stranger to us. Why should we change our plans on your word?”

“You will get caught,” Greenleaf insisted. “And they will bring you to…him. And I… you have all been kind to me and…” he ran out of words, only able to shake his head as if to rid it of horrible images.

“Him? Do you mean the Necromancer?” Gandalf asked sharply and then looked worried as Green leaf nodded with his face hidden in his hands. “This is a turn for the worse. I didn’t know his power reached all the way to the South pass yet. Lothlorien must be surrounded.”

“What do you mean? I thought we were headed to Mor…even further south.” Pippin asked. 

“The old Woodland Kingdom of the elves fell long ago. You might remember it as Firewood in your tales but it has been under the dominion of Sauron for a long time now and it is almost as horrible place as Mordor, held in check only by the elves of Lothlorien.”Aragon explained. “We cannot pass through it without risking detection.”

“You cannot go south.” Greenleaf insisted. “Nor East. You will get killed.”

“That is a risk we are willing to take,” Gimli said quietly. “Our quest is most important.”

Greenleaf looked around and must have seen the set resolve in their faces. For a short while something warred inside him, and then he said. 

“If you must, then I will show you the way.”

“How do we know he is not leading us into a trap?” Boromir mumbled when the Fellowship made to leave their camp. “It would not be the first time the Enemy uses pity to lead us to our doom.”

“This Greenleaf has more reason to hate and fear the enemy than most, I deem.” Gandalf said firmly. “Yet I will not deny that there is something unsettling about him. We best keep our guard up.”

At the elf s primitive camp, Gimli watched Greenleaf gather his meager belongings. It went very quickly; he just gathered up his piece of sharp flint and the bird feather. The holly leaves and berries were apparently deemed to wiltered to bring along. The elf must have misunderstood Gimli´s glance because he sounded a little embarrassed when he spoke. 

“I found it and I couldn´t let it lay on the ground. It makes me glad to look at. All the colors.” He held up the feather.

“It is beautiful,” Gimli nodded. “Beautiful things makes us glad when we look at them. I wish I could show you my home and the gold and jewels there.”

“I know of gold and jewels.” The elf´s face suddenly got very hard. “And I never want to see either again!” He glanced down at his callused hands and something clicked inside Gimli; those were the calluses from wielding a pickaxe and carrying rocks. He´d seen similar on his own kin hundreds of times although those who had them worse them with pride from their handiwork. Greenleaf seemed to loath them.

“You were a miner,” he blurted out and the elf nodded. 

“Yes. Shall we go back to the others? I have nothing left here.”

Gimli looked at the sad camp and the elf determined not to keep talking about his past and nodded. 

The changed direction form south east to straight east, hoping to be able to pass over the pass of Caradhras before winter set in properly. Gimli tried to convince them about Moria — perhaps they could even leave Greenleaf there in the safety of Balin and his kin — but Gandalf seemed very reluctant so over the mountain it was. But they had half of Hollin to pass through first. 

Greenleaf kept pace with them, cradling the lidded pot of what was left of his porridge under his arm, his eyes darting everywhere out of paranoid habit. Still, you could ask for a worse lookout than a nervous elf, Gimli supposed. It made him feel a little better at least, knowing that whatever was out there it would not be able to sneak up on them. He walked next to the elf and talked a bit about his homeland and his family, all of which seemed to deeply fascinate the elf. Time and again he asked for explanation of some words, which Gimli patiently provided although it made him wonder. 

He spoke quietly to Aragon about it during a break when Green leaf was busy with Sam show tried to explain ‘bread’ and ‘apples’ to him. 

“I do not think he is a prisoner of war who has escaped,” Aragon said. “Although that would explain him being here and in such a sorry state. But if he was, he would know what spoons and food are.”

“Then were does he come from? He waved east when I asked him but if he is not from Lothlorien, then were? Are there any other elven lands east of here?”

“Not anymore. Like Gandalf said, the Woodland Realm fell long ago — centuries ago.” Aragon shrugged and shook his head. “I truly do not know, Gimli.”

Night fell and darkness with it, but they decided to press on a little more. These were dangerous, wild parts of the wilderness and there were little comfort to be found. The sooner they got away from here, the better. The moon had barely risen when Greenleaf stopped. 

“There is something out there.” He whispered, grabbing for the crude dagger in his belt. “I can smell it.”

Aragon nodded and drew his sword with a stern face. 

“I can sense it to. Wargs, and probably orcs to.” He quickly ushered the hobbits into a protective circle behind them, and Sam quickly got to work lighting a fire. 

“Orcs?!” Greenleaf shivered so badly he almost dropped the knife. 

“Aye laddie, don’t worry. Stay here with the hobbits. We´ll take care of them.” Gimli gently but firmly led him into the middle. “You just stay here.”

The fighting members of the fellowship quickly closed a ring around the others, weapons out, while the hobbits armed themselves with their small swords and fire brands. Far too soon burning red eyes could be seen all around them and snarls came from the darkness. They were surrounded. 

Gimli hefted his ax bur refused to be baited to leave his spot; if they were to survive this their only chance was to stay in a tight group. Anyone stepping too far into the dark would be overwhelmed. But it was difficult to stay still when taunts and growls sounded all around them. 

The attack came quickly but not quick enough; Gimli bashed the head in on one warg and threw an ax at the throat of an incoming orch. The Men and Gandalf were equally up to the task; the enemy outnumbered them, but they were poorly organized and badly equipped. Very soon they had killed off most of their attackers and the rest fled into the night, yipping and screaming and followed by the hobbits thrown fire brands. Hobbits had good aim indeed. 

“We must hurry on. They might find reinforcements.” Gandalf got them all into a tight group and hurried on but when Gimli grabbed Greenleaf´s hand to lead him forward, the elf looked sickly pale, close to fainting. He was staring at the fallen orcs, throat working convulsively as if he was about to throw up. Gimli realized what the scene must look like to an untrained eye.

“Don´t worry, don’t worry.” He patted the hand soothingly, leaving a track of orch blood down the elf’s hand. “They were just orcs. We do not kill good people.”

“Just orcs,” the elf repeated, looking worse than before. “Just orcs.”

“That is right. Now come, we must keep up with the others.”

The shock of seeing the fellowship slaughter orcs must have been worse than Gimli expected; Green leaf stumbled after the group as if blind and deaf to the world. Before he’d had a strange kind of grace to him; not the grace of the Riven dell elves but something wilder but now that too was all lost. Gimli was deeply concerned but not to surprise. The elf feared orcs, that much was clear, but many feared orcs and if you had never seen a real battle up close it was not a pretty sight. The clamor and the stink and the fear; it was enough to make most loose all heart of fighting. And yet the elf did not slip into the night and disappear, even though the glances the threw at the fellowship were even more fearful than before. He kept very close to Gimli. 

This had been such a bad idea. He had let himself be lured in by food and kindness, and he had let himself forget who these people were, who he was. Just orcs. The heartbeat they realized what he was, they would kill him to, strike him down with no mercy. It would probably be quick, but he did not want to die.

He didn’t want to leave either. Just one day, and he couldn’t imagine going back to his solitary life again. The dwarf had been right; he would never survive another winter out here alone. 

His mind spun far too fast, he wasn’t paying attention and when the attack came, he reacted purely out of instinct. 

The orc threw itself at the dwarf — MY DWARF — and Greenleaf were moving before he’d made a conscious decision. 

With a growl that couldn’t be told apart from the orcs he tackled the orc to the ground. Snarling and biting they rolled over the ground, tearing at each other with broken nails that were almost claws, trying to get to each others throat with sharp teeth. He didn’t even recall his dagger, the only thought in his head was to remove this threat as quickly as possible. When he saw the opening, he lounged for it. 

Blood spurted into his mouth, warm and rancid but even as he gagged he felt triumph rush through him. The orc shuddered and died, and he was covered in its filth and blood and all he knew was that he wanted to do this again, and again until there were no more threat left in the world and…

He came back to himself with a jolt that was more painful than the orcs teeth and claws. 

The horrified faces of the fellowship were all on him, even the dwarf looking to stunned to speak, and he realized what he had done. He had ruined everything. 

Without a single glance back, he turned and fled into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have written 'Greenleaf' so many times now I started thinking of him as some kind of tea.


	7. Chapter 7

Greenleaf was running, but not as fast or far as he needed to. The orc he had killed with his bare hands had left its marks on him to - dirty nails dug deep into his ribs - and he could feel the poison of them spreading through his body, sped up by the blood loss. He was probably stumbling forward more than running and leaving a blood trail that a blind orc could follow. His feverish, overheated brain had only one suggestion; he needed to hide, and quickly. 

A small opening between some rocks beckoned at him, and he crawled into the tight space with a last bout of effort before his body gave up and collapsed him on the cold ground. 

Outside he could hear thunder and the hissing of rain coming closer; his first stroke of luck. Rain would wash his tracks away. His last conscious thought before the sickness took him was relief that he had not hurt anyone in the Fellowship. 

He woke up, shivering with cold and unable to understand where he was for several minutes before last nights events came crashing into his memory. He made a sound somewhere between a sob and a groan as he recalled the looks on those kind faces when they realized what he was. He knew he should get up, keep moving to a better a shelter and try to dress his wound, find water and shelter. His body was trying to fight the sickness, but he was worn down in body, mind and soul, and he could not find the will to move, even though his body was shaking so hard it felt like his bones would break. There was some water in a muddy puddle by his feet; he drank from it and then fell unconscious again. 

Through his fitful sleep he could hear voices calling for him, calling the name he had given himself. He stayed very still. Something powerful and benign brushed his mind but his mind was barely held together and it could not find purchase. It passed over him and could not find him.

At some point he woke up and it was night again. He had stopped shivering but that was just because his body had no strength left. He was dying, he realized, and was too tired to even find relief in the thought. Something was snarling by the tight entrance to his hideout, and when he turned his head that way he saw that is was a wolf. Not a Warg, but a normal plains wolf, watching him with hungry eyes. For an indeterminate length of time their eyes met. The wolf scratched at the entrance and sniffed the air inside and then it turned away into the starlit night outside. It was not worth the effort for such scrawny, poisoned piece of meat. 

Greenleaf turned his eyes towards the stars and let go of everything.

He was barely aware when strong arms pushed the stones aside and gently grabbed him, lifting him up from the ground and swaddling him in blankets. He did not react when warm water laced with honey and athelas was poured down his throat. He did not know that he was being held and cried over. 

Instead, his feverish mind was recalling things he had long since forgotten, or perhaps pushed down so hard they were buried. 

They were not happy memories. They hurt.

He saw two tall elves fighting the oncoming dark in a fair wood with magic and might, clumsy crowns made out of twigs and berries on their head. He had made those crowns with his own pudgy, unskilled child fingers, and they were most beloved. He saw their wearers fail and fall, broken by the dark might and their screaming Fea cast into the Halls of Mandos. He saw armies of orcs slaughtering a vastly smaller elven army underneath the crowns of trees whose leaves were withering and dying. He saw what was left of his people try to protect their prince - himself - when the Enemy took them away, took them as slaves in his mines. 

His people tried to protect him, as much as they could, for he was not only their prince but the only elven child born in centuries. But as time wore them down all became about survival, and they became slowly changed into something that were not orcs but were not elves either. A shadow thing in between. And he more than most.

The centuries that followed were nothing but filth and darkness and slavery, one day slipping into the next with no hope but survival. Until he could take it no more and by luck and chance escaped.

But his people were still there.

The transition from fever dream to reality was so slow that he was not at first aware that he was awake. Not until a strange face covered in hair hand beard leaned over him did he realize that this was not a fantasy. He could never have imagined such kindness in someones eyes.

"How are you feeling?" The dwarf - Gimli, he knew his name - said with a strangely hoarse voice.

Greenleaf considered, reluctantly letting himself take in his body and its doubtless countless aches and complaints. Then he frowned. 

"I feel....well." He did. He was warm and the fever was gone. His body felt exhausted but not in excruciating pain. "But hungry."

Gimli exhaled with such relief as if he had just put down a heavy burden. He closed his eyes for a second and then looked down and smiled. 

"That can be helped." He helped Greenleaf to sit up and the elf realized he had been sleeping with his head in the dwarf´s lap. "It is not as good as Master Gamgees stews, but it ought to fill you up." He handed over a pot and a spoon, which Greenleaf felt a bit more confident wielding now. He was half-way through the stew before he realized something. 

"Where are the others?" His heart sank.

"They went ahead. We should be able to catch up with them if we hurry. Hobbits can walk far and silent but not fast." He caught the elf´s eyes. "They did not want to abandon you, but our quest must come first."

Greenleaf hung his head in shame. 

"I am sorry. I have kept you from your friends and your mission." Images of the orc he´d killed flashed through his mind. "I have endangered you all, but you even more."

"Not at all! You saved my life." Gimli took a deep breath. "And you spoke in your illness and fever grip. Prince Legolas of Mirkwood."

Greenleaf looked at him and sadly shook his head. 

"Maybe that was who I was once. But not for a long, long time." He put down the pot and rose his hands, pulling back the tangled, dirty mess that was his hair and revealing the mutilated, cut off pieces of cartilage that had once been his pointy ears. "I am an orc now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutley weird spellcheck comments on this one:  
> Does not know the word ´He´  
> Ah yes, the famous ´Legolas of Firewood´  
> Replaces ´vastly smaller army´with ´tiny army´ (is a tiny army and army of hobbits?)


	8. Chapter 8

Greenleaf knew he had another name now, but he couldn´t bring himself to use it. Legolas had been an elven prince. Greenleaf was an orc, or so close as to make no difference. Finally, he had to ask Gimli to stop using his other name.

"It hurts," he tried to explain. "Legolas is someone I might have been, but I am not. Greenleaf is the name I chose for myself. Before that I had no name at all. I was Snaga, like everyone else of my people."

The pain crossing Gimlli´s face seemed strange to Green leaf, as did the way he refused to meet his eyes.

"Snaga just means slave. It is not a name. And Legolas is...it is who you were meant to be! It is a destiny that was robbed from you!" He said angrily. Before, such anger would have made Green leaf recoil and fear but now he just shook his head sadly.

"Maybe, but that is long gone. My people fought and we lost. The world was changed - and I was changed - far from that destiny. The life I have led.... I do not deserve any title or any elven name."

"You are not an orc, no matter what they did to you!"

Greenleaf took a deep breath and now it was he who looked away.

"I have done terrible, horrible things. Even to my own people. I have fought them for the last piece of bread instead of sharing or giving it to those who needed it more. I have driven them off from the softer place to sleep simply because I was stronger and I wanted that spot. I have huddled behind them as they took punishment meant for me. I am an orc."

"You did those things under dire distress, as a prisoner your whole life! That you even kept as much wit and sense as you did is a miracle." Gimli glanced quickly at his head where the dirty hair again covered the side of his head. "They...they tortured and mutilated you."

"My ears? I did that myself."

Gimli just stared at him and this time Green leaf did not look away.

"There comes a time when you had to choose; to die like an elf or to live like an orc. They gave us a knife and told us to choose. Many killed themselves. I choose to live....and become something else."

Gimli buried his face in his hands.

They rested the day, for Green leaf to regain his strength but didn´t talk much more. Both were too busy with their own thoughts. It wasn´t until the fire was burning low that evening that Gimli asked what he wanted to do next.

"You are still welcome to join us, until we find a safer place for you. Or I can give you directions for the road to Imladris. Elrond is a skilled healer, he might be able to help you. You would at least be with your kin again."

"My kin is still imprisoned by the Necromancer. I do not know this Elrond or his people and I... I dont know if I would trust them." Green leaf took a deep breath. "But I trust you. Can I come with you, at least for now?"

"Of course. We will have to tell all to the rest of the Fellowship though. This is not something we can keep secret from them." He poked almost angrily at the fire at the word ´secret´. 

The thought of revealing his shame to the others made Greenleaf shudder, but he nodded. 

"I suppose so." He braved a smile. "Are all dwarves like this?"

Gimli looked up sharply. His eyes were suspiciously wet but Greenleaf was still too uncertain of words and emotions to properly interpret them.

"What do you mean?!"

A bit uncertain at the reaction, Greenleaf searched for words in his limited vocabulary. 

"Helpful. Kind." He waved a hand in frustration over his lack of words. "You have done too much for me. Your people must truly be great."

"Oh lad, I haven´t done nearly enough!" Greatly bewildered, Green leaf saw tears now run freely down Gimli´s face. "I could never repay my peoples debt to you! It is because of us that all this happened!"

"What do you mean? Your people have done nothing to me. I have never even seen a dwarf before I met you?"

"Aye, and that is the heart of it! Your King and Queen - your parents - they came to the dwarves long ago, begging for help against the Necromancer! We turned them down. We had problems of our own we said, we didn´t need a war in a country that wasn´t ours! If we had allied with the elves, together we might have stopped all of this from even happening." He hung his head, refusing to look up. 

Green leaf sat quiet a long time. Then he said. 

"Your words make no sense." He smiled wanly as Gimli looked up. "You say I should not take responsability for what I was forced to do to survive, yet you think you should take responsability for events that happened generations before you were born?"

"You do not understand. We could have done something later, when we saw what happened. Instead, we stood by and watched you get slaughtered and then...maybe if we had known there were still some of you alive, maybe we would have attacked and tried to free you. Too late to repent for our inactions before but still...."

"Not too late. As long as anyone is still alive, it is not too late. But....my people are not what they were. They are like me, or worse. They are orcs now, no matter what you tell them."

"Would they fight alongside their slave masters?"

Something twitched in Greenleaf´s lips, something too cruel to be a smile. 

"Oh no. They would kill them the first chance they got." 

There was a new kind of sadness over the elf as he and Gimli returned to the Fellowship later that night, and a new kind of thoughtfulness over the dwarf. As Green leaf told his horrific tale to the shocked Fellowship, Gimli sat staring into the ground, deeply lost in thoughts. He didn't

T look up until Greenleaf shyly asked for some water and a comb for his hair. 

"It is no point hiding what I am anymore," he said with a bit more bravado than he actually felt.

"I will help you, if you wish." Gimli got up. "If you haven't washed or combed your hair before you are likely to tear it out with the roots if you try to tackle that mess alone."

Greenleaf looked at him for a long time before saying:

"I would like that, yes. Thank you."

It took almost an hour of washing, combing and regretfully cutting some impossible tangles before a comb could slide through hair that finally looked elven. Something about Green leaf also seemed more elven as his hair was brought back to what it had not been since he was a child; Gimli recalled a rumor saying hair and voices were important to elves. Maybe that was true. 

Greenleaf fingered a lock of his own hair with obvious fascination. 

"Could you help me make...those things in it?" He waved a hand at Gimli´s beard.

"Braids?" He asked, a bit amused despite it all. 

"Braids. Yes, braids. I like them." A small colouring rose on his cheeks. 

"Of course. But..." Gimli hesitated. "If you just wear it down, it will cover your...ears."

Green leaf stiffened but Gimli couldn´t regret his words. It was true. With the hair down the horrible mangled pieces were hidden, and he looked far more elven. With a sigh, Green leaf shook his head.

"I do not want to hide them. I don´t want you all to forget what I am - and I dont want to hide what I am either. If I am to help my people, they must know that I am one of them."

"So that is your plan then?" Gimli said slowly as he started plaiting a few strands. "To go back and free your people? You will get killed."

Greenleaf laughed, a small and sad sound.

" I do not have a plan. Just a dream. But that is more than I have ever had before. Thank you." He touched the braids in his hair with a small content smile. 

"For what? The braids or the dream?"

Greenleaf smiled.

"Both."


	9. Epilogue

One year later

“You do not need to do this. It is my responsibility. My people.” Greenleaf was fiddling with his weapon – a good white dwarven made dagger, now covered in orc blood but without any notches. Gimli felt satisfied when he saw it and the work it had done to free Greenwood. It had been a good gift. 

“Aye, I know. But I would want to be with you, if you let me.” His own axe was almost as gory. It had been hard , terrible work to clear out the Necromancers old burg.

Greenleaf smiled. The year had changed him almost as much as it had changed the world; he was stronger and surer of himself and much of the fear inside him had died or turned to righteous anger. When Frodo had destroyed the Ring, he had almost collapsed as the grip on his soul was lifted. The orcs around him in front of the Black Gate had collapsed to. But unlike them, Greenleaf had managed to get back on his feet. 

And still he was much the same; as different from the Noldori elves as he was from orcs. He did not move like them, or think like them. He was something else. More dangerous as less wise, and he always would be. Both him and Gimli had come to accept it even if others did not. And now they were back were it had all started for Greenleaf long ago to see if there were anyone left to save of his people. 

“You comfort me, Gimli. Thank you for being with me, wherever I go.” He took a steadying breath and walked through the gates. And Gimli stepped with him. 

Inside the walls all seemed quiet and still as a grave. The rest of their alliance, dwarves from the Blue Mountain and elves from Lothlorien, waited outside now that the place was cleared of orcs but the signs of the battle were everywhere; dead orcs and worse creatures laying everywhere. Gimli tried not to think about how many of those orcs had been Greenleaf’s people, changed beyond redemption. The Lady Galadriel had broken the spell the necromancer had laid on this place and claimed it would not affect those wh stil had the light of the elder inside them but Gimli wondered. What if they were all gone? What if Greenleaf was the last of his kind?

The hard grip on his hand said that the same thoughts were running through Greenleaf’s mind.

They saw no living soul as they walked through the empty darkness but slowly the clouds above them withdrew and the pale light of stars and moon shone down on them, making the shadows blue in the cold winter night. And that’s when they first heard it. 

It was not really singing and not really wailing but something in between, haunting and sorrowfilled. One voice at first and then more, all hoarse and uncertain but wild and clear as howling wolves. A song perhaps, if the singers did not know any words or melody but only the need to express the sudden change in their world and their souls. Something about freedom and the fear that came with it. It made every hair on Gimli’s hair rise up and he couldn’t help but thing ‘what will we be realizing back into the world?!’. But Greenleaf hurried forward and from his throat to came the same haunting sound, but clearer, stronger. A leader calling out for his pack. 

They came to the quarry and the moon was shining down, bathing it all in its cold light. From their vantage point above it Gimli could see hundreds of eyes turning towards them and the wordless singing stopped immediately. 

The elves down there – for they were elves or they would not have survived the fall of the Ring and Galdadriels breaking spell – looked worse thatn Greenleaf had when Gimli first met him. They were starved and beaten, cold and exhausted and some had lost limbs due to cruel treatment. But there were in their eyes the same light and the same fragile hope that had burned in Greenleafs eyes. They had not lost hope, even when they lost everything else. Greenleaf stepped forward and rose his hands, Gimli’s hand still in his. His voice carried over the quarry, to every crevice and shadow. 

“My people. I have come to take you home.” He took a deep breath. “You are the elves of Mirkwood. And I am Prince Legolas Greenleaf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zombie elves! Half orc-elves? Sindarin? I don't even know but at least they are free now!


End file.
